


What is Grief?

by cc tinslebee (Doitlikeagreaser)



Category: WandaVision (TV)
Genre: Family Issues, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied Ralph-Bohner-is-Peter-Maximoff, Jewish Maximoff Family (Marvel), Memory Alteration, Other Wandavision cast mentioned, POV Second Person, Peter Maximoff Needs a Hug, Post-Season/Series 01, based on a Tumblr post (link in notes)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:49:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29991384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doitlikeagreaser/pseuds/cc%20tinslebee
Summary: The streets of Westview are bare following the confusing havoc that was yesterday. Or perhaps an entire week of chaos. With the promise of rain hanging heavy in the sky, it seems like the perfect day to an uncle to hang out with his favourite nephews.Was the Maximoff home always this barren?
Relationships: Billy Kaplan & Pietro Maximoff & Wanda Maximoff & Tommy Shepherd (mentioned), Pietro Maximoff & Monica Rambeau
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	What is Grief?

**Author's Note:**

> This post definitely stirred emotions in me that I wasn't expecting to have, so I figured I might as well write something based on it ,:)  
> https://jageshemashftw.tumblr.com/post/645141951301173248/do-you-think-ralph-bohner-misses-playing-the-role  
> Also, just a quick disclaimer, I have yet to watch the X-Men films, so my knowledge of Peter Maximoff is purely second-hand information--

It's been a long week, you think, as you drop limply onto the couch.

The scary lady who had you pinned down had gotten off of you, even offering a hand to help you up from the floor. The following events were a blur now. But you remember following her, her bespectacled girlfriend, and your twin nephews to the basement of your home. Parasitically black roots that glowed purple lined the unfamiliar cobblestone walls, the steps to the basement creaked under your heel. You watched as a harmless, adorable bunny transformed into a horrifying demon right in front of your eyes. It lunged at you, and in all your discombobulation, you forgot to run away.

You didn't have to because one of your nephews sped in front of you protectively as the demon froze mid-lung. You had looked over to your other nephew, blue light illuminating from his palms as he kept the fiend in place. He gave you a comforting smile, and it had struck you how much he looked like his mother.

The demon had writhed out of his magical grasp, though. You had screeched as the intimidating ladies and your nephews fought resiliently against it.

You don't remember them filtering out of your home. They were there one minute and gone the next, off to battle the next threat that faced the formerly peaceful town. 

As you stumbled upstairs back to the second floor, you begin to wonder if any of that happened at all.

Your head swims with disorientation, strain pressing heavily against every wall of your brain, closing in on your thoughts, your memories. Your jaw falls slack, your lips part as you merely stare ahead at the array of appliances and nicknacks in the room. You don't recall collecting them, much less where you got them. YOu would think that this variety of items would all have a story tethered to them, but as you looked emptily around the room, all you see is _stuff._ It's cool stuff, you admit; you can see yourself enjoying these things. But it doesn't feel like _yours._

You continue to sit there, trying to place the hollow feeling in your chest, even as the day melts into darkness. As the pixelated wall of scarlet crashes into you, every cell in your body _burns_ like your atoms are tearing away from you one by one, and you still feel like a broken shell of a man. 

In an instant, the brightness returns outside your window, filtering through the room inconsistently. You can't find it in yourself to care, feeling no motivation to reanimate yourself from your limp doll-like state. You could sit there for ages until hunger claws at your stomach, or you feel yourself wither into nothing. The boredom hit a long time ago, and it continues to nag at you, but you can't imagine having the strength to stand up and do anything.

Eventually, you do, willing yourself up because you know you can't stay there forever. No one is coming to check on you. 

You need to check on them, though. That's your role. 

Narrowly avoiding the scattered beads across the floor, you wander out of the room. As you take heavy steps down to the first floor, it occurs to you just how dark and gothic your house actually is. When did that happen? It was far from an interior decorating choice that you would have made. You decide that it must have been your wife's choice.

You remember that you don't have a wife.

You open the darkened dor to your house and take a step outside. The oddly warm November temperature that hits your forearms doesn't quite feel real, but it brings an uncomfortable edge that makes your skin crawl. It feels like the first thing you've felt in a very long time, and somehow, that's the opposite of reassuring.

You find yourself unsettled. Whatever that feeling is that trails across the hairs of your forearms, you do _not_ like it.

What were you doing again?

That's right. You were going to check on your nephews after the chaotic day they had, maybe get them roped into pestering their mother and their toaster of a father.

A soft smile creeps its way onto your face at the thought. The hope that rises in your chest is enough to stifle the skin-crawling feeling from before. You step away from the threshold, not bothering to close the door as you walk away. You note that the sky looks a little gloomy, and the streets of Westview are empty -- in anticipation of the upcoming rain, you reckon. Maybe you can convince your sister to let you stay in with her and the boys. A slow, rainy day sounds like what everyone needs today. Everyone needs a break now and then.

It's great for the roses too, and there are plenty of roses in Westview. 

So, you walk down to the street and take a right to the Maximoff home. As you walk down the walkway, you anticipate the always-cheery sight of house No. 2800.

What you don't expect to see is an empty foundation in its place, the skeleton of the perfect suburban home your sister wanted for her family.

No, that can't be right. The Maximoff home was right here. It had to be. You distinctly remember that when your sister locked you out that Halloween night, you went in that very same direction to go to your own home. 

Where was Wanda? Where were Billy and Tommy? Where was the walking encyclopaedia your sister called a husband?

Where was your family?

Your chest sinks with the weight of the Titanic, making you wonder if you ever even had one. 

No, no, _no._ That wasn't true. Of course you had a family. Everyone has a family, don't they?

You have a sister. Of course you have a sister. You remember a red-headed little girl and the feeling that you would lay down your life to protect her. You remember the way she would scrunch her nose whenever you would make jokes at her expense, good-naturedly. You _remember_ that.

But the more you think about it, the less you're sure. Another little girl enters your thoughts. Her face is a blur, but you _know_ that Tommy and Billy look _just_ like her, so that must be proof that you _do_ have a family.

Your nephews. You have nephews, don't you? Of course you do. There's that little scamp Tommy, a chip of the old Maximoff block. He's just like you, you think. He has superspeed as you do, and you wonder what else he'll have once he grows into his powers.

 _If_ he will ever grow into his powers, that is.

You shake those thoughts away because you have another nephew: Billy. He's the responsible one, like Wanda, though there was a time that you remember having to take care of her. But it warms your heart to know that those boys have each other's backs.

You see something special in those boys. Even if their mother thinks you some imposter and urges them to stay away from you, they still protected you from the monster in your basement.

You sniffle absentmindedly; you barely even register that gushing tears streak your face until you're unconsciously wiping them away.

You wander wealy into the plot of land, finding yourself collapse in the dead centre. Your throat and chest burn with the want to scream, to call out for, or perhaps mourn, your missing family. But you merely sit there silently as your knees sear with discomfort and tears continue to sting your eyes. Trying to rub them would only cause more harm than good, with your arms hanging uselessly in the sand and dirt that has replaced your family's home.

The empty feeling returns as you sit lifelessly in the heart of a home of unfulfilled promises.

You never got to see your sister get married to the love of her life. You would never get to see your nephews' bar mitzvah or graduation or anything.

Because you have no family; you have no sister, no technological brother-in-law. You have no nephews. You are utterly alone.

So why do you remember them so clearly?

You spend the next week like this. You wake up from a restless sleep, and without much thought, wander over to the house next door to hang out with your favourite nephews and pester your sister. Then you see the empty foundation again and remember you have neither of those.

You sit back down in the centre of the lot on one such day instead of going home and sleeping for another twelve hours. The hollow feeling in your chest has not left since the day you began this loop of seemingly endless misery. You watch emptily as the wind blows fragments of sand an inch or two above the ground before it settles once again.

The rain you predicted days ago never came. No one else did either.

And then something new happens. A man with silver streaking his hair approaches you tentatively. You wipe your wet cheek with the back of your hands, half-heartedly trying to make yourself presentable so this man doesn't think you some nutcase sitting in an empty lot. It occurs to you that's not far from the truth, and he himself looks like he came out of a Dungeons and Dragons convention, so you decide that you don't really care what this man thinks of you.

He steps into the lot of lost dreams and studies you. His face, devoid of any emotion, reflects how empty you yourself feel, and it's difficult to deduce if he is eying you with disgust or pity. 

"I won't entertain you by saying that ridiculous pseudonym of yours," he speaks carefully, "but I presume that you are the one going by Ralph."

You nod slowly. That's what the scary lady from before called you, after all. But in your isolation, you can't recall feeling tethered to anything but this plot of land, these false -- or real -- memories. You don't feel a connection to your own house, your things, let alone your own name. The name Ralph spoken in regards to you does not feel right coming from anyone's mouth. You're not sure if any name would.

The wizard nods and lifts your limp person from the ground like a ragdoll, pulling you out without another thought. Your formerly spiritless body springs to life; you surprise yourself as you begin to thrash in this stranger's grasp. You didn't do this when the scary woman had you pinned down; you had merely begged for mercy. But she hadn't tried to take you away from the one thing that meant anything to you anymore.

You _can't_ leave this place. What if they come back? You can't miss that; you just _can't--_

"Stop that," the wizard scolds assertively, subduing your thrashing to your dismay. "You're coming with me."

You give him a silent, hard stare, unwilling to speak but hoping he can feel the fury radiating off you. There's an underlying plea under all that rage; _Don't. Don't take me away from them again._

The wizard gives you an odd look of understanding, as if he knows perfectly well what this place means to you and why you need to stay.

"You'll see her again soon," he promises earnestly, "But there is work to do before then."

You feel your jaw clench, untrusting and suspicious of this dapper wizard, but you put up less of a fight as he continues to take you away from Westview.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Kudos are much appreciated, as are comments (though, please be respectful if you do the latter)!  
> I hope you all are doing well! Please remember to take care of yourselves and stay safe out there.


End file.
